Trials of the Trickster King
by Lt. Commander Richie
Summary: A comedy of errors, in which our much-beloved God of Mischief discovers that Valkyries sleep naked, trolls are not to be bargained with, revenge is best served lukewarm and trying to cut Sif's hair in her sleep is much, much easier said than done.
1. Chapter 1

**Trials of the Trickster King**

_LCR_

**Disclaimer/AN: **Don't own it. Wish like nothing else I could say I had something to do with the absolutely beautiful costumes in the movie though, oh my godddddddddddd sobeautifulimightdie but so yeah anyway people keep writing about Loki and Sigyn or Thor and Jane or Loki and some chick he meets when he does his own impression of Thor all over Midgard and I happen to find it very funny. And I've been reading comics like nobody's business recently and I've always loved the story of how Sif got black hair. And hey, Sif has black hair in the movie, so that means that this happened~ this is just my own personal (and hopefully humorous) version of it.

**Story is best read on 3/4 or 1/2 width and possibly even a larger typeface. **

_Chapter 1_

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><p><em>--  
><em>

By the pale green light emitting from the small ball of magic in his hand, Loki could deftly maneuver his way through the house he found himself in. It was a careful spell, casting light only for the caster, and the young magical prodigy was a master of the craft. He froze when a floorboard creaked beneath his foot, but when he heard no stirrings inside the room he crept towards he continued on his way.

Loki Odinson, you see, had been wronged.

The Lady Sif, in her crass and ever-so-tactful ways, had managed to not only knock him out in a fight that he most certainly had _not _started but to also knock him into a fountain. A fountain which then deigned it time to break into several pieces and spray him with even more water. He'd only been saved from drowning because Volstagg had pulled him out by the foot and shaken him until he'd regained consciousness.

So yes, Loki had been wronged. And he was going to do something about it.

And yes, doing something about it involved creeping towards the bedchambers of the Lady Sif with a pair of scissors carefully hidden away on his person.

In twenty years of life nobody had ever accused Loki of not being petty.

Honestly though, the Lady Sif's golden hair was a thing to be marveled at. It was as soft as flax, as gold as the throne of Odin and the armor of her brother Heimdall and a beautiful length that reached well past her waist. Loki would be lying if he ever said that he wouldn't miss her hair- if only to tug on her braids when she least expected it. He lived for the exasperated looks and angry curses that his jibes and torments garnered.

_But now, _he thought as he opened the door to her bedchambers, _at least she'll know the price for shaming __**me**__!_

The room was dark to his eyes, even with the aid of the small ball of magic in his aloft hand. The curtains of the large windows were drawn tightly shut, most likely to keep out the brilliant starlight that lit all of Asgard with a muted blue brilliance that made everything shine in a way that the sun never could. A warm summer breeze fluttered those curtains for a moment, and the youngest son of Odin froze stiller than a statue as he waited for any sign of movement from the figure on the bed.

When none came, he tiptoed quickly and quietly across the room to the edge of the bed. It was a massive one, situated between the two windows on the wall, and covered in the pelts of many a hunted beast of Nornheim and Alfheim. But the massive pelts of demon bears and other such creatures weren't what Loki was after- no, he was after the two long golden braids that twisted across the tanned hides like twin blond snakes.

With a grin that some might call cruel, others feral, and yet others smug, Loki produced the scissors from somewhere upon his person and picked up the end of one of those long silken braids. The Lady Sif slumbered peacefully still on her stomach, her face buried into the pillows as her best friend's younger brother followed the braid to its source at a leather hair band at the base of her neck.

One decisive snip later, her golden hair fell limp around her ears on one side. In one hand, Loki held one of her long braids. He quickly bundled up the braid and hid it away on his person, perhaps to frame Fandral or Thor with at a later date, and reached for her other braid.

That was about when a fist shot out from beneath the pelts that adorned the bed and caught the God of Mischief somewhere between his solar plexus and his liver. He went flying several feet, landing hard on his backside and sliding a ways on the polished wooden floor. In the confusion his light was extinguished, throwing the room into utter unintelligible blackness. Dazed, Loki heard the pelts on the bed get thrown onto the floor as the Lady Sif got up to face her assailant once again. There was a noise, and for a moment Loki couldn't place it, but when a small sliver of light caught the edge of a rather horrifyingly large battleaxe he realized that it was the sound of an Asynja warrior maiden arming herself.

He opened his mouth to identify himself, to even attempt to placate the angry woman that happened to have a very large axe and was walking towards him, but then a bright light obscured his vision as the curtains were thrown open and the starlight exploded into the room.

Belatedly, Loki realized that the Lady Sif didn't keep a battleaxe next to her bed- not even his father or Thor did that.

_Oh merciful Allfather, _the God thought, _I'm in the… the wrong-_

"Buh?" he finished his thought rather intelligently. To be frank, though, his intelligence had completely deserted him in the face of his most certain death. His inhumanly beautiful, absolutely terrifying death.

In the starlight her skin shone blue and flawless, highlighting tight curves and trim lines of muscle like a celestial caress. Her face was that of an angel, so painfully beautiful that should she appear on Midgard there would be songs and artwork inspired into being for thousands of years. Even framed by mismatched and choppy hair on one side, her golden hair still complimented her beauty like it was supposed to be that way.

She also had a battleaxe.

And she was naked.

Loki honestly could not think except to stare. If he was going to die by the hand of an enraged naked Valkyrie, he was going to appreciate the view in the process.

Fortunately enough the woman let out a feral screech of a war cry as she leapt at him with her axe, and it snapped him out of his daze quickly enough that he could flicker from his place on the woman's floor and onto his own cold stone floor. The ambient light shocked his eyes for a moment, and he blinked several times to rid himself of the specks in his vision. A beat of silence passed, two, and the young God let out a wheezing breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. Boneless, he fell backwards onto the flagstones and blinked several times.

And then he began to laugh.

-/-

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><p><strong>So please don't expect another chapter until after this weekend at least. I'm going to Fanime and it's a bit of a road trip, so I won't have much time to do writing things and such. Fortunately the term lets out almost directly afterward, so all I'm really gonna do before I start on a new costume is write and lounge about. This ought to get fast updates after that. <strong>

**I'm honestly just writing this little ditty of a story for fun, I love the Thor comics/movie so much that I can't help it. **

**Reviews are love!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Trials of the Trickster King**

_LCR_

**Disclaimer/AN: **Still don't own jack, though my god I really kinda wish I did because oh hot damn then we could have Ragnarok and other crazy shit like that and Loki running around formin' little clubs with Norman Osborn and Doom and stuff like that.

**Story best read on 3/4 or 1/2 story width and possibly a larger font size. Could just be my really bad eyes though. **

_Chapter 2_

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><p>--

The morning feast saw Loki drowsy, nodding into his mead every few minutes as he fought off the siren call of slumber. His elbow was dangerously close to the potatoes on his plate and the heel of his hand pushed his cheek into his eye rather spectacularly. Those same green eyes were slightly rheumy and clouded, unfocusedly looking at something in the middle distance.

Fear for his life (and the memory of the naked Valkyrie) had kept him awake until he had been summoned for breakfast.

The trickster had a distinct feeling that Brunhilde hadn't gotten a good enough look at him to pick him out of a crowd, but in his case a healthy dose of paranoia was never amiss. When the people of Asgard begin to call you the God of Mischief all eyes immediately turn to you when something goes horribly wrong. Of course this time it was justified, but it wasn't always so. Sometimes it was all one could do to keep their sanity in the halls of the Allfather.

Loki stifled a yawn and brought a forkful of egg and pork to his mouth, chewing absentmindedly as he tried not to look like he was about to fall into his drink. Brunhilde had yet to enter the hall, which most likely meant that the Valkyrie wasn't attending- out of shame or for a previous engagement the prince wasn't sure. Still, his watchful paranoia did not waver even while being grasped at by the long fingers of sleep. He took another bite of his food and blinked languidly, briefly entertaining a mad hope that he could get a full night's sleep in the sparse moment that his eyes were closed.

Without preamble, the Lady Sif took the chair across the banquet table from him. The way with which she threw herself into the seat without grace, dressed fully in her hunting armor and bristling with her many armaments, shook the table enough that the young prince's drink nearly toppled over.

Her long golden braids hung over her shoulders, mocking him in a way that hair really shouldn't.

"I did not mean to throw you into that fountain," she said by way of greeting. Without even a by-your-leave she began filling a plate, her every movement clicking or clanking because of her armor. When she finished she sat her elbows on the wood in front of her, looking a little guilty as she did so. "I was aiming for the pig trough next to it, and my aim is not as true as it could be."

"…lovely," Loki muttered. He pushed a bit at the potatoes on his plate with his fork, suddenly very much not hungry.

"I also did not intend for the fountain to break," Sif continued, her manner relatively brusque and straightforward. "…or for Volstagg to shake you like he did."

"You do know what they say of the road to Helheim," Loki offered. He took a bite of his breakfast, trying very hard not to glare at the woman across the table from him. She shook her head, completely oblivious to the force of the look the young prince gave her, and her braids shifted tantalizingly. Oh how, in his half-awake state, the black-haired Æsir wished to reach out and pull viciously on one!

"I do not," Sif said. She took a bite of her food and sat back at rest, her elbows on the table. "Enlighten me?"

"They say it is paved with good intentions," the prince finished. He leaned back onto his hand once again, the very picture of boredom. His eyes fought to stay open as he stifled a yawn, but once again he felt himself wishing that he could sleep for hours in the space of a blink. It wouldn't be so difficult- time dilation in a very localized field could no doubt do the trick but that magic was yet beyond his grasp. But perhaps he should learn the art if only to know it- manipulation of time itself could be a very useful skill indeed.

Loki found himself becoming vaguely aware of someone saying his name.

"-ki. Loki? Loki!" his eyes snapped open and he gave the Lady Sif a poorly-disguised filthy look. The vitriol in his eyes was that of someone who had just been woken from a deep and peaceful slumber. To her credit the warrior woman didn't flinch in any way- she had grown up with looks like those and simply gave him one oozing with sarcasm right back. "To say I am sorry-"

"You already have," Loki cut her off. In an angry gesture worthy of Thor the Lady Sif banged a fist on the table beside her plate, goblets and cutlery all down the expanse of it rattling.

"I am speaking, damn it all!" Loki flicked out a finger and a spark of green magic kept his goblet from toppling over into his food. His nonchalance seemed to only make the Lady Sif angrier, because she stood with a clatter of her weapons and armor and slammed her hands on the table. "I go to hunt in the forests of Alfheim today. I wish to bring you back something that I may apologize further. Would you make a request of me, or shall I simply bring you back the pelt of the first thing I come across?"

"Since you do not venture to Nornheim I cannot ask for Karnilla's head on a pike," Loki straightened up and sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of his chest. "But since you offer, perhaps a Demiguise hide or the beak and feathers of a Griffin?"

Sif narrowed her eyes at the prince's requests, her face screwing into an expression of displeasure at the thought of tracking down the creatures he spoke of.

"Very well then," she ground out after a lengthy pause. "I will obtain those for you and we may consider the matter settled." Loki smiled, the expression kind but strangely cold. Sif's eyebrows knit closer together with the smallest of twitches at the expression- she trusted neither it nor the man it belonged to more than she trusted a snake coiled to strike.

"Indeed we may," the black-haired prince said. At his smug words the Lady Sif huffed angrily, pushing back her seat and picking up her plate before vacating the table in a clanking of armor and weaponry. With her gone Loki repositioned himself in his chair, once again leaning onto one of his hands as he tried in vain to escape the spindly, grasping fingers of sleep.

_Striking whilst the iron is hot is far too predictable- as is waiting until the transgression is all but forgotten_, he thought. The God of Mischief allowed himself a small smirk and a chuckle as he began planning anew his assault upon the Lady Sif's hair. _She will not expect retribution now that she has made reparations with me. Revenge is sweetest when the other party is completely un-_

In his half-awake stupor, the prince's elbow slipped from the armrest of his chair.

With a clatter and a yelp, he fell from his seat and managed to punch himself in the eye in the process.

-/-

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><p><strong>Dunno what I'll do for the next chapter, if it ever ends up getting written. It most likely will, but honestly I don't know when it'll get to the lot of you. <strong>

**Thor fics are like my guilty pleasure right now. Especially Loki stuff hint hint know what I mean say no more say no more.**

**Reviews are love~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Trials of the Trickster King**

_LCR_

**Disclaimer/AN: **You do not know difficulty until you've tried to put horns on a headdress that's supposed to be just sort of stuck to someone's forehead. Damn Norse warlocks and their damn Norse warlock magic. So yes, if I can't even manage to get horns on a headdress and onto a wig, what makes you think I own Thor or anything therein?

**Story is best read on 3/4 or 1/2 width, font size is up to you. **

_Chapter 3_

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><p>--

The funny thing about Demiguise hides is that they retain the magical abilities of the creatures themselves long after they've been killed. You get the basic invulnerabilities of your standard magical beast- a nearly impenetrable hide and some keen senses, but those are nothing to a God.

Demiguise hides, you see, are prized for the simple fact that they are completely invisible.

It makes hunting them very troublesome indeed.

Loki wore the fruits of one such hunt proudly about his shoulders, the hide practically still warm it was so freshly skinned from one of the large beasts. It had been presented to him not four hours previously, and he used it now to steal silently and invisibly into the home of the Lady Sif. She wouldn't know for hours yet that the invisible pelt she had spent the day hunting had been instrumental in the brutal murder of her long golden locks- if she found out at all. The thought was enough to make Loki smile to himself beneath the magical hide.

The young God paused only once on the stairs when his foot hit a sour spot, the quiet groaning creak louder than anything in the darkness. The sound seemingly echoed through the still blackness, and as it did Loki froze so still he could have been mistaken for a statue. After a moment of silence, however, he began his quest anew and continued to the top of the stairs. The locked door at the top of the flight proved no match for a quick snap of his fingers and some careful application of magic, and he passed into the hallway beyond with only the slightest rustling of the pelt about his shoulders. With nearly worrying ease he made his way to the Lady Sif's bedroom door and pushed it open, his small smile of triumph growing ever larger-

The door stuck on something on the floor.

Loki used a bit more force and pushed the object along with the door, the object finally sliding under the door and sticking it three quarters of the way open. Loki pushed again, but it would not budge. A small brush of his fingers together- barely even a snap- and a fluttering green light erupted in his palm. The light was carefully enchanted despite the nonchalant way in which the young Prince cast it, and as such the glow was only visible to him. It illuminated the floor enough that he could see what had stuck the door where it had- it was some discarded article of clothing, balled up and twisted into something unrecognizable. His brow furrowing, Loki turned his attention to the rest of the Lady Sif's chambers. The hand in which he held the enchanted fluttering green light rose to illuminate the rest of the room, and the God felt his eyebrows rise and his jaw drop seemingly of their own volition.

The Lady Sif's bedroom was a wreck.

It looked like someone had made a bomb of clothes, armor and weapons and set it off inside.

Thor's room had looked better than this when he was a teenager.

Loki's keen eyes quickly picked out the least dangerous path, and he quickly sidestepped a large and rather sharp claymore lying on the bedroom floor in order to begin his rather treacherous journey towards the Lady Sif's bed.

_I can almost see what Thor sees in this woman_, the Mischief God thought as he stepped over a crossbow and nearly slipped on Sif's favorite shield. 'Least dangerous' was most definitely relative to the rest of the room- a quick look confirmed Loki's suspicions that there was in fact a large pile of swords and armor simply sitting in a corner. _She is a warrior after his own heart. It leads one to wonder why Brunhilde was chosen to be the Valkyrie and not her-_ the black-haired God stumbled and quickly caught himself, shaking his foot to untangle it from whatever he had managed to step in. When he couldn't get himself untangled he reached down and pulled himself free, holding up the offending garment to see just what it was he had gotten stuck in.

It took exactly three and a half seconds for Loki to realize what the lacy scrap of something was that he was holding, and the rest of that fourth second to realize he needed to drop it.

He promptly threw the offending scrap of clothing across the room and shook his hand as if it had been bitten.

Resisting the urge to grumble about Asynja warrior maidens and their alarming propensity for sleeping with their weapons, Loki quickly finished his trek to the edge of the Lady Sif's bed. In the process he stepped over two sets of throwing knives and a spear as well as sidestepped around a massive pile of laundry. But finally he stood over the woman, clad in his invisible pelt, and he pulled the shears from his belt with the barely-concealed glee of someone who knew he was going to Helheim and would save you a seat when he got there.

Sif's golden hair glowed in the flickering green light that Loki held, and to free up his other hand he flicked that light into the air to hang and illuminate his work. To sleep the warrior maiden had pulled her bright mane back into one large braid, and it wound down and across her naked back and her sheets like a great white and gold python. It was for the tied-off end of that long cord of golden hair that Loki reached, picking it up and gently- carefully- following it up the Lady Sif's back to the base of her neck. He most certainly didn't let his fingers linger on her skin as he did, nor did he treat the spun gold of her hair carefully as he lifted it and brought his shears to the flaxen strands. Of course not.

With a few decisive snips the deed was done, the glittering blond of the Lady Sif's hair free in Loki's hands. For some reason it seemed a bit duller, limply clutched in his fingers as it was. The flickering light of the Trickster God's magic no longer reflected in the blond strands- it only made them glow a vaguely green and sickly hue. Loki's brow furrowed in confusion at the sight, but only for a moment. His brief pause over, he quickly wrapped the thick braid into a few loops and stowed it away into a magical subspace for safekeeping.

As he prepared a quick transportation spell- less slapshod and knee-jerk than the one he had used the night before- the young Æsir congratulated himself on a job well done. His congratulations were short-lived, however, as he froze completely still when the woman on the bed moaned something in her sleep and rolled over. Her golden bangs, rendered choppy and blunt-cut by Loki's quick handiwork, fell about her face in a way that seemed to only enhance her beauty in the flickering green magical light. The short strands of her hair grasped at her pillow like short fingers, almost as though they were willing themselves to grow back to their original lustrous length. She seemed serene in sleep, and even Loki could see that with a little bit of trimming the Lady Sif would most likely enjoy her new hairstyle.

Almost as an afterthought, the Mischief God realized that save for a conveniently-placed arm and a bit of blanket the Lady Sif was topless.

Seriously, what was it with warrior women and sleeping naked?

"'ave at thee… cur," Sif grumbled in her sleep. She made a wild and lazy slashing motion with one arm, the movement following through into her rolling over onto her side. Seeing his chance, Loki reached down and picked up the golden bangs of the Lady Sif and quickly snipped them so short that only a small bit of golden fuzz remained. He continued his butchery of her hair until there was no longer any hair to cut that was visible. What he left on her head was patchwork and horrible looking, as though she had caught some sort of horrifying disease whilst hunting in Alfheim. In the fluttering green light of Loki's magic she even looked sickly pale, tinted a horrifying shade of the magical color to his eyes.

But now he was left with a conundrum. He could attempt to get her to roll over so he could murder the rest of her golden hair, or he could leave the choppy remnants on the other side of her head as a stylistic choice. Granted it was a hairstyle more suited to Skurge than the Lady Sif, but for a joking moment Loki cruelly thought that it suited her rather nicely. However, the young God knew that he couldn't risk waking Sif up by trying to force her to move, and as such he began to straighten up so as to-

_WHAP_

Sif suddenly rolled over, one arm arcing through the air as she slept and smacking Loki square in the jaw. He cursed and fell to the floor in a surprised heap, nearly dropping his shears in the process. As the black-haired Æsir rolled over to get back up to his feet, he froze. Inches from his face was one of the tips of a rather sharp-looking spiked chakram, its mate underneath the pile of books that the more pressing and threatening one sat atop. Slowly and carefully Loki pulled himself to his feet, turning to gladly notice that Sif had rolled over onto the side he'd wanted her to _and_ had pulled her blankets further up her chest.

Not wanting to tarry any longer than he should for paranoid fear of the Lady Sif waking, Loki quickly set about chopping off what was left of the woman's hair. He left mangy clumps in places and smooth skin in others, his shears as sharp as the swords littering the warrior maiden's bedroom floor. It took but a minute to finish the job, and as he did Loki stepped back (avoiding several weapons in the process) and surveyed his work. There was not a single thing to be considered beautiful about the cruel hack-job he had done to the once-beautiful hair of the Lady Sif- where she had once had perfect flaxen blond hair there was now only golden peach fuzz if anything.

As if sensing his invisible scrutiny, Sif muttered something in her sleep. Her brow furrowed deeply in an expression of displeasure, and she clutched at her blanket tightly. In the flickering green light she looked angry, and Loki was very much wary of that.

"Loki…" the warrior woman ground out. Her sleeping tone was full of warning, but for a split second the Mischief God thought he heard- no. That would be, for all intents and purposes, very weird. She said his name again, in the same tone, and the warlock stifled a derisive snort. He knew not of what she dreamed, but should she remember it in the morning and find out who it was that had robbed her of her golden tresses he would like to be there to see her face when she put two and two together.

Again Loki prepared his transportation spell, drawing his enchanted invisible hide close about him for a moment before he disappeared into a puff of green smoke. In that same puff he appeared in his chambers, thankfully on his feet and without incident. The golden room was well-lit for the time of night that it was, and the young God threw off his new cloak with a twirling flourish that landed it across the back of a chair. He quickly crossed the room to a chest, unlocking and opening it with a flick of his wrist and an upward flourish of the same hand. Another simple flourish brought the Lady Sif's golden braid from the magical subspace he had stored it in, and he smiled to himself at the sight of it before he placed it inside the chest and shut the lid.

As he turned from the chest an idle thought struck him, which led to another. Those two idle thoughts brought him to a sudden, terrible, very much not-very-good realization.

Loki froze where he stood, and the expression of sudden and sheer realized horror on his face would have been hilarious had it not been so pressingly terrifying.

_He had not shielded himself from those with prying Sight_, he belatedly realized. So wrapped up in his thoughts of revenge, the magic had slipped his mind. _And the Lady Sif's half-brother is-_

The large golden doors to the Prince's personal chambers were thrown wide open, and the black-haired man whipped around with wide green eyes to see who had dared to do so. A palace guard walked in with his head held high, his two compatriots flanking the doors. No doubt to prevent escape- though Loki highly doubted they were equipped to deal with a Warlock of his prowess.

"Heimdall demands to speak with you. _Now_," the guard said. Loki somehow bade his visage remain impassive at the order, but internally he found himself full of dread and fear.

_Shit. _

_-/-_

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><p><strong>People seem to forget that Sif and Heimdall are siblings. Of course since Idris Elba was Heimdall in the movie they probably have no intention of ever mentioning that ever, but I like to think that he's her Brother From Another Mother. And of course since he sees everything he'd see Loki cut Sif's hair, and Elba Heimdall is pretty much a BAMF so he would no doubt have all sorts of problems with his sister getting her head shaved as revenge. <strong>

**Don't know how I'mma do the next chapter. Might skip the confrontation altogether, might use it as a flashback, dunno yet. This chapter is literally about twice as long as the first two. Effin' fantastic. **

**Reviews are always love. **

**-Richie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Trials of the Trickster King**

_LCR_

**Disclaimer/AN: **All roads lead to Latveria eventually. Even the dead end down the street. Even the Bifrost. If I owned it NO roads would lead to Latveria because they would all just sort of magically go around it and its Doom and his Doombots. But since all roads lead to Latveria it's safe to say I have nothing to do with it.

**Story is best read on 1/2 or 3/4 width with a larger font size, though that may just be my eyes. **

_Chapter 4_

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><p><em>--  
><em>

"Well well, is de second son of Odin. 'e graces us wid 'is presence," trolls have voices that sound like the cackling of crows. Their accents are varying kinds of atrocious depending on what realm they hail from- they are very much equal-opportunity freeloaders and land-hogs. Their tunnels are deep and moldy, the air cloying with the scents of things long dead and arcane herbs that only those well-versed in the witchcraft of the dead and sickly would ever use. The troll's hooked green nose flared as he leaned towards the younger son of Odin, and Loki gave it a withering look coupled with the faintest of sneers.

"It ain't of de boy's own choice," a second troll chimed in. This one's green skin was mottled a near shade of blue, its hair a shocking red that rivaled that of Volstagg's. One wiry hand went to the creature's bony chin, and it mocked the young prince with feigned deep pondering. "But den dat leave de question of whose choice it was, don' it?"

It had very much been Heimdall's choice.

Backed by the infinite blackness and stars of the universe, framed by the entrance to the Bifrost, the solitary golden guardian of Asgard had cut a rather imposing figure. He had not spoken a word as Loki approached, and continued his silence for a while longer. On the very edge of the realm, where only the sounds of light and water were to be heard, that silence had tugged at Loki's cunning mind. Armorless, though, the young prince had felt very much vulnerable to the piercing orange gaze of Heimdall.

"You're going to fix what you have done," the words had not been a question. They had been spoken firmly, resolutely, as though the golden giant of an Asgardian had known already that they would come to pass. He had been still as he had spoken, and he had continued to be so as he started once again. "I would also that you apologize and beg forgiveness for your petty revenge upon my half-sister, but a scorpion will not change its nature for a frog."

"You would think me so low as to be incapable of apology?" Loki had foregone the thought of excuses before he had even left his chambers- he had known well that his silver tongue would not help him when Heimdall had seen every cruel snip and slice he had inflicted upon the Lady Sif's golden tresses.

"No. I think you incapable of remorse when you perceive yourself to have been wronged," again Heimdall had been resolute in his speech, his words frank. "As of now, the only two people in Asgard that know of your deed are you and I. Repair the damage you have done within a day and the Allfather will not hear of it."

"Are you-" Loki had begun, before he had broken off into chuckles. "Do you presume-"

"Make no mistake, Loki Odinson. I am angered far beyond what you perceive. I would like nothing more than to take your punishment into my own hands- but I will not. Punishing you for your trickery and mischief would be akin to punishing your brother for learning to command the thunder, or the Elves of Alfheim for their prowess with a bow. It's pointless, for lies and tricks are your very nature," Heimdall's tone had grown progressively darker and graver as he had spoken, and Loki had found himself feeling as though he had been lectured like a child. He'd also found himself growing angry at that feeling, and he had fisted his hands and broken the eye contact he had held with the golden-armored guardian.

"Fine! Fine. I'll fix it," the black-haired prince had spat. With a dismissive wave he had turned, the movement blending into smoke as he had magicked himself back into his chambers.

So yes, blackmail. Lovely stuff. Well, that is until you're on the wrong end of it.

Heimdall may have been forcing Loki to put right what he had done, but the young Æsir had every intention of doing so on his own terms.

Hence the trolls.

"Why I came to be here is irrelevant," Loki began. He gave the first troll- the sarcastic, sniffing one- a look full of disdain as it circled behind him and snuffled once again with its long hooked beak of a nose. "I imagine that would be much easier if you took that bone out of your nose," the prince offered. The troll twitched his nose and said bone wiggled back and forth, something inside it rattling like a child's toy.

"'elps me smell de truth," the troll cackled. "But I can't smell you. Yo' shroud be powerful, second son. But we know de reason why you here," the green troll stepped back, his white hair falling about his bony moss-colored face as he turned to a bubbling cauldron and the scorching heat of the flame beneath it. "De Norn Queen ain't de only one dat scrys you for amusement, you know."

Loki repressed a shudder of revulsion at the idea of Karnilla watching him for her amusement, and made a rather pressing mental note to always shroud himself from Sight and scry before bathing from then on.

"You know why I come to you, then," the young prince said. The turquoise and red troll, his posture skulking and bent as he walked around the edge of the underground room, laughed. The sound was like the cackling of the dead in Helheim, and it did nothing to put the Æsir at ease.

"We saw what you do to de Lady Sif's hair, you wan' us to fix de damage," the troll chuckled again, though now it seemed darker and less shrill. "Explain to me, den, why you don' do dis yo'self. You de only boy ever gone to de school of witchcraft, you do spells in yo sleep de women of Asgard don' attempt while awake. De only one in Asgard wit' magic stronger den yo's be de Allfather, an' dat's 'cause he know de Rune magic of de Odinforce. Why, den, can't you do something as simple as dis?"

"Despite my magical prowess, being the best in all of Asgard is no difficult feat when faced with gossiping women and soothsayers as competition," Loki clasped his hands behind his back, and advanced towards the cauldron and the fire in the underground chamber. He looked every inch businesslike, shrewd and calculating, and the firelight cast deep shadows onto his angular features. "I am loathe to admit that I do not know enough cosmetic magic to do something even so simple as craft a wig."

The two trolls looked at each other across the bubbling cauldron, brows rising in a near-unison that bordered on the absurd.

"…we don' know how to make wigs either," the first troll turned and addressed the Mischief God. "We be trolls, not old women."

_Well shit. _Loki's eyes widened a fraction at their admittance.

"We know de magic to make 'er a new 'ead of hair, though," the second troll chimed in. "She jus' gotta put it on an' de spells make it real," his bony fingers once again went to his chin, and he rubbed it in genuine thought. His beaky nose twitched as he pondered. "De easiest way is to use de hair you took from 'er 'ead."

No sooner had the troll said so did Loki call the braid forth from the magical subspace he had stored it in once again, producing it seemingly from thin air with a flourish of his hand. He reached out and picked up the end of it, holding the large plait in both hands. It shone a sallow orange in the firelight, lit with pale and sickly gold between the reflections. No longer was the hair lustrous and seemingly made of liquid gold, and the change was enough for the young trickster to wonder if the Lady Sif's hair didn't have magical properties. With both hands he presented the braid to the troll, and the large turquoise creature took it in one careful hand.

"Shake yo' legs, Krukkel. We got a spell to weave," the troll called out. The green one, Krukkel, shook one of his legs at the other troll and began pulling things from where they had been hung on the walls. The second troll produced a small knife and cut the leather ties on Sif's liberated braid, the long hair quickly falling loose in his turquoise hand. Loki stepped back to watch the proceedings from what he deigned to be a safe distance, his mind whirring as he watched the two trolls work. Despite the very arcane and messy look of the magic the two made it look like some grotesque artform, the loose hair in the second troll's hand quickly lifting into the air above the bubbling cauldron and assembling itself into something that looked very much like a full head of well-styled blond hair.

"I imagine you'll want to be compensated for your… efforts," the haughty expression Loki wore at his light mocking of the troll's magic was made almost demonic by the flickering firelight's shadows. The orange flickers cast a deep darkness under his brows and lit up his eyes.

"Don' mock us, second Odinson- unless you be wantin' me to sew dose lips of yo's shut," the green troll's voice was very much a laughing cackle, but the threat was still there. "No, we want a little bit of Royal blood."

The second prince of Asgard couldn't stifle the snort that escaped him.

The turquoise troll snapped his long bony fingers and the head of hair floating above the cauldron suddenly turned a deep black color that matched the prince's own.

"_Fine_," Loki snapped. The troll made a simple gesture and the color faded like ink spreading in reverse, the hair once again becoming a dull and lifeless golden blond. A few cursory waves of what looked like a branch of mistletoe over the cauldron beneath the magically-imbued hair by Krukkel finished up their spellcasting, and the green troll plucked the finished hair from where it hung. Loki held out a hand to accept the magical item, and faster than a wink the troll had produced a dagger from somewhere on his mossy green person and slashed his palm with it.

Loki drew his affronted hand back quickly, holding it close as he surveyed the damage. The cut was deep, blood flowing from it freely in bright red rivulets that ran from his pale skin to drip upon the dirt floor. The bloodied blade disappeared as quickly as it had been produced, and the young prince conjured up a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding. His makeshift bandage tied (though slowly becoming soaked with red) the Mischief God accepted the magical head of hair from the green troll. With a flick of his wrist it was safely hidden away in a magical subspace.

"You have your blood, I have what I ventured here for. All debts are paid- speak of this to no one," Loki commanded. The two trolls nodded, looking very solemn despite the nearly comical proportions of their noses and bony chins.

"Of course," the turquoise one intoned, and Loki turned away from the two warlocks in a motion that blended into a cloud of green smoke.

It was only after he returned to his chambers from a visit to the Healing Rooms, where he had had his hand stitched up by a very angry nurse in a sleeping cap and nightgown, that the trickster allowed himself to start swearing up a storm at the pain.

-/-

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><p><strong>I think it may have come to my attention at some point between this chapter and the last that I do not know actual Norse mythology in the slightest. I just know Marvel Norse stuff. This isn't so bad because olololololol this is kind of Marvel Norse stuff we're working with here, but don't rag on me because you know the actual myths and I know the comic book versions. <strong>

**I think I might have been about to say something else here but I don't remember what it was. **

**Reviews, as always, are love. **

**-Richie**


	5. Chapter 5

**Trials of the Trickster King**

_LCR_

**Disclaimer/AN: **If I owned it we would have had an adorable young Balder and also shapeshifting Loki. Did you see any shapeshifting? No, all I saw was pole dancing (and no Balder). Safe to say I don't own it.

**Chapter is best read on ½ or ¾ story width with a larger font, though that may just be my eyes. **

_Chapter 5_

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><p><em>--_

Her screams were easily heard in Helheim. They sent flocks of birds flapping into the air in fright, and set dogs to cowering. They started with shock and ended in a rage so pure it was nearly palpable.

The Lady Sif was very much Not Amused.

Loki, in his infinite wisdom (and his ability to scry) knew this.

So when Sif put two and two together and got _Loki cut off all my hair_ the young God knew that he only had so much time before he had to fend for his life against an angry Asynja that would probably come armed and more dangerous than usual. He was certainly one for theatrics, though, and as such the God conjured up a chair and a drink and sat down to face his death with dignity.

He didn't have long to wait.

Sif burst into Loki's personal chambers with all the grace and charm of a raging Fire Giant. The doors bounced off the gold-plated walls and closed themselves behind her, and she stopped a wary distance away from his chair with her hand straying towards the hilt of the sword at her hip. The deep red cloak that covered her head and shoulders shadowed her face from prying eyes, but the Trickster God could still see the grim snarl that her lips formed. Loki opened his mouth to say something- perhaps a witty remark- but the Lady Sif cut him off.

"_Fix this_," she hissed, punctuating the statement by throwing back her hood. "_Now._"

"What makes you think I can?" Loki asked. He took a sip of his drink and surveyed his handiwork with a faux concerned expression. In the rather bright ambient light of his chambers the damage done to the Lady Sif's hair was far more garish than it had been in the darkness of her messy room. The bald patches of scalp between the glinting gold stubbly bits and mangy-looking tufts of hair still present on her head were flushed pink with anger. With a bit of dejection the Mischief God realized that he had left a long lock of golden hair in front of her left ear relatively intact. It hung limply around her face in a rather forlorn way.

"You hacked it off, you can very well put it back where you found it," Sif snapped at him. To Loki, the fury in her eyes was almost entrancing. He loved knowing- seeing- that he could stir the people around him to such rage. The young God sighed and bade his drink disappear with a flick of his wrist, standing and doing the same with his chair.

"I did not," he began as he straightened his clothes and began a slow walk towards one of his desks. The lies spilled easily from his lips, nothing showing on his face as his silver tongue spun assurances. "You've done nothing to me to garner such ire. Honestly I rather liked your hair," he continued. Brushing a few papers aside Loki leaned against the edge of his desk, facing the Lady Sif. "What makes you think I've done this?"

"I've been Thor's friend for a very long time, Loki. I've been _your _friend just as long. Your occasional cruel trick or falsehood does not change this fact. Deny it all you like, _Trickster God_, but I know you better than you would think or like," Sif's voice was very much calm as she spoke, but Loki could hear the barely-restrained anger behind it. "I _knew _you," her eyes narrowed and her chin jutted out defiantly as she spoke again, spitting the words as though they were a filthy poison.

"You think so low of me now?" Loki offered the warrior woman something that seemed almost like a self-satisfied smirk. Her upper lip slowly curled as her mouth flirted with a sneer. "You didn't before," the young God's voice was teasing. He sighed and leaned back on his hands against the table, watching the young woman in front of him with a careful eye. She had foregone reaching for her sword, but the younger prince had no intention of becoming another victim of the fearsome Lady Sif. "Still," he said, "I had nothing to do with your current haircut."

Sif made a very un-ladylike sound of disbelief.

"I can probably fix it, though," Loki continued as though he hadn't even been interrupted. In a single fluid movement he pushed himself up and away from the table he leaned against, making his way across the room towards the Asynja. The warrior woman regarded him with no small amount of distrust in her narrowed eyes, but she didn't turn to watch him as he walked around behind her and back into view on her other side.

"Well?" Sif asked. Loki gave her a look that plainly said not to rush him, and she returned it with one of her own that told him rather forcefully to hurry up.

"Of course I can fix it. Whoever did it in the first place just hacked it all off with some shears or something- all I need is a simple spell," Loki offered the Lady Sif a small smile as he spoke, the expression quite charming on his face. With a flourish of his hands he produced the trolls' handiwork from a subspace, catching it carefully with the tips of his fingers and holding it out to the unfortunately-coiffed woman in front of him. In the light of his chambers, the blond hair almost looked like its original liquid gold. Gently- carefully- Sif reached out and took it from the God.

"A wig?" she asked, looking up at him with a bit of skepticism in her eyes.

"It'll become your hair once you put it on," Loki supplied. Sif looked down at the wig with her eyebrows rising, and Loki's own rose in an urging gesture. "It can't bite you," he assured.

"Thank you for that," Sif muttered. In a flash of gold and quick flip, the warrior woman was carefully arranging the hair on her head. The blond strands fell about her face in a pale halo, and the effect was just short of stunning. She shook a few strands from her eyes and brushed the rest back over her shoulder with a flip, giving the second prince a small smile. It was interrupted for a moment by the smallest of winces, but as that faded the Lady reached up and tugged lightly at her bangs. They didn't budge.

"See?" Loki asked. "You're fine. No need for the theat-" the young God's eyebrows knit together as he paused, his gaze focused on something that wasn't the Lady Sif's face. His fine brows suddenly shot up, and the expression he made was not a pleased one. Sif's hand raked through her new hair and brought a fistful of it forward in front of her eyes, watching helplessly as shiny pitch blackness spread through the strands like blood in water. She pulled more of it forward in time to see the black color spread all the way to the tips of her hair.

There was a long silence between the two Æsir.

_Those two trolls were going to pay._

"_What_ did you _do_!" Sif shrieked. She ran her fingers through the thick black hair she now sported, tousling it this-way and that to perhaps find some bit of blond left. With angry curses she pulled at the hair, but the savage tug only made her scalp hurt. The Asynja threw her new black locks back over her shoulders, reaching for the sword at her waist instead.

"I swear to you, it was a mistake. I didn't mean to-" Loki leaned back at the waist to keep the sword currently pointed at his nose from carving a path across his face. Behind the weapon he could see Sif's rage plain on her features, framed as they were by gentle waves of hair the same color as his own. Knotted and unkempt as they were from her frenzy of hair-pulling and screaming, the pitch black locks fell about her much as her golden hair had- in a way that enhanced her beauty. But the black added fierceness to her features, whereas the gold had made her seem courtly and fragile.

"_Fix it_," Sif demanded. Loki stepped back and straightened up, looking the picture of apologetic as he wrung his hands for lack of something else to do with them.

"I… don't know how," the God admitted. "I've never bothered with cosmetic magic. Shapeshifting encompasses all of those spells without having to learn individual incantations for shade or colorfastness. I've never thought myself as vain as to need it- or so low as to resort to it for tricks and laughs."

"So learn!" the Lady snapped. "Learn quickly!"

"Would you wish your hair to turn _blue_!" Loki snapped right back. That Sif would even deign to _think _she could order him about as she had just done made him livid. "Learning takes _time_, even for someone such as me. Not everything can be solved with a simple wave of the hand and perhaps a few sparkling bits of flashy showmanship. Magic is practice, and understanding, and- and-" the Trickster God's silver tongue was failing him. For the first time in a long while, he had been brought to the point of wordless anger.

He was actually going to kill those trolls.

Nobody would ever miss them.

"-and it looks good on you," the prince finished dumbly. The words seemed to have the opposite effect on the Lady Sif, because she snarled deep and jabbed her sword forward towards the God.

"I will not stand to be _mocked_, even by a prince of _lies _and _slander_," she spat. Her words were harsh, but behind the sneer and the hard narrowed eyes Loki could see the hurt that fueled the rage. The God of Mischief was no stranger to the Lady's emotional cruelty- more powerful words had spilled from her lips to him before this, and she recanted all those with due time. These would be no different. The God seemed to deflate, his anger leaving him as she spoke.

"Not even a bird would mock you now," Loki quipped. He made a gesture with one hand and the mirror hanging from a nearby wall zipped to his grasp. The young prince pulled it gingerly between himself and the angry Asynja, angling it to show her the hair she now sported. Sif slowly lowered her blade, her brow furrowing lightly as she scrutinized her reflection. "See?" Loki's silver tongue seemed to be working for forgiveness of its previous shortcomings, as he spun lies quickly as he could open his mouth to form the words. "Between the gold of a simpering Lady and the black of a Warrior, which would you choose?"

"You would call your brother a simpering Lady?" Sif asked. The look on her face was as mischievous as any he could make. Loki gave the woman a knowing smile around the edge of the mirror. The matching expression, though devious, lit up his features in a charming manner.

"The Lady Thor's womanly charm is unmatched by all but our mother," the prince said, his tone dry. "So? With proper scrutiny, do you like it? You could find someone to change it if you asked about, I suppose. Women that learn cosmetic magic are hardly in short supply in Asgard, seeing as that's usually the only lessons they ever paid attention to while I was learning."

"It's…" the Lady Sif trailed off. With one hand she brushed strands of her new hair from her face, arranging the black locks around her fair features with a certain amount of feminine grace. Her skin was a sharp contrast to the new color, even tanned as it was from her hours of practicing in the sun. "It's not _so_ terrible," she finished.

"I wasn't lying when I said it suited you," Loki said. Sif offered him a small and somewhat uncomfortable-looking sweet smile, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Thank you," the warrior woman began, "for giving me my hair back." Loki waved his hand and the mirror he held zipped back to its place on the wall.

"I did nothing of the sort," he said as he took the Lady's hand and raised it to about head-height between them. It was an informal and sterile version of a kiss on her knuckles, a sparse 'you're welcome', and the young God let her go quickly. "To give back your hair would mean that I had done all that butchery to it," he asserted. "I rather liked that braid of yours, though I think I like it more now."

"Your silver tongue will win no favors from me," Sif's tone was dry as she spoke. Loki shrugged as he turned from her and began walking towards the balcony of his chambers.

"It has before," he said over his shoulder. Behind him, the Lady Sif bristled and made a bit of a face. "Will you join me then?" the Mischief God asked as he opened the large doors with a wave of his hand. Sunlight flooded the room, tinting the walls orange and blue. Outside, the sky was a mix of bright orange clouds and massive belts of multicolored stars. A nebula, shining a million different brilliant colors, lit up the edge of the Realm like a disk of silver. Loki conjured up the chair and drink he had whisked away beforehand and sat down to look at the morning sky.

"I will not," Sif said stiffly. "Thank you for your help, m'lord," she muttered, before Loki heard her leave in a flip of her cape and the sound of armor. As the doors to his chambers closed behind her, the second prince of Asgard reveled in the simple silence of solitude. He could hear the occasional bird from his open balcony, and the light breeze rustled the deep green curtains that framed the balcony doors. Across the room a large tome disappeared in a wisp of green smoke, appearing a moment later on the prince's lap. He cracked it open and began to read, sipping idly at his drink.

A disaster (and possible untimely death) averted, the God of Mischief settled in for a lazy day of Grimoire-reading and drinking.

He got maybe four pages before the doors to his chambers opened once again.

At least it was a Royal Messenger this time. He was less likely to be there for blood.

"Your Highness," he began, "His Highness Thor is insisting upon your presence in the stables. His Highness and the Warriors Three wish to journey to Nidavellir to hunt, and wish you to accompany them."

"Did my brother mention the Demon Bears?" Loki sighed. He figured he already knew the answer, and as such his drink and book disappeared with quick gestures.

"I… Believe he did, your Highness," the messenger said. The second prince stood and straightened his clothes, nodding absently.

"Fine. Tell my brother I will be along shortly, and remind him to bring an extra sword. He forgets sometimes that Demon Bear blood melts everything except Uru metal," with a nod the messenger was gone, and Loki made a face as he walked back into his chambers. The doors to his balcony snapped shut behind him, and the God went to go find his Uru throwing knives.

It was going to be a long day.

-/-

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><p><strong>Well aren't you glad that's done and over with. <strong>

**I had fun writing this chapter, and I had most of it planned in my mind, but I never got around to writing it because I was too busy writing fills for the meme or drawing various horrible things (Marvel/Kingdom Hearts character designs) and putting them on my tumblr (slightly-bovverd). Also I was kind of distracted by the glorious Thor RP going on over there (seriously, glorious) and making cosplay things. Which I should be doing right now. **

**But so yeah. The End. Tra~**

**Reviews are still love.**

**-Richie  
><strong>


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